


Hoist the Colors

by Shinsun



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Accidental/On Purpose Kidnapping, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Author Has Done Their Research, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate AU, Probably lots of swearing, Swashbuckling Adventures, Swords and Guns, Violence, nautical terms, pirate slang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: The night that Kagami Taiga, a nobleman's son, decides on a whim to spare the life of a pirate, he has no idea what consequences might result from his actions.When he finds himself accidentally on board theRising Tyrant, a pirate vessel captained by the notorious Aomine Daiki, four years later, it finally starts to click.
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga
Comments: 19
Kudos: 58





	Hoist the Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue Pirates of the Caribbean theme*

A sudden crash and a thump in the dead of night is never a very comforting thing to hear.

Taiga jolts upright in his bed, his eyes -- slow to adjust in the total darkness -- darting around the room for the source of the sound. The cool glow of the moon streaming through ghostly curtains illuminates only a small square of the floor, a stripe of light landing on the thick comforter thrown over Taiga’s legs. The rest of his bedroom is in shadow, shapes and forms condensing into a thick wash of non-specific gloom. Everything is still.

Then a distant clang from downstairs shatters the quiet, the sounds of shouts and scuffling and multiple sets of feet tramping through the halls inciting Taiga to spring out of bed, seizing the chamberstick from his bedside and fumbling blindly for a match. He squints against the sudden pop of flame in the blackness, and holds the candle up high.

His free hand shoots up to cover his mouth.

There’s a man hiding in his room. Badly. Pressing his body flush to the wall behind the tall mahogany wardrobe as if he can just melt into its shadow and disappear, his face contorting in a dismayed grimace as the light falls on it. His dark skin glows almost orange under the fluttering flame, his eyes cutting frequently between Taiga and the window on the other side of the room, but he doesn’t move a muscle as the sound of thumping boots draws closer. 

Taiga opens his mouth, but before he can get out a single word, his door bangs open on its hinges and two armed guards burst in. From their angle in the doorway they don’t seem to see the intruder, and they both sag slightly with relief to lay eyes on Taiga.

“Young Lord, thank goodness you’re safe,” one of them says, dipping his head respectfully and lowering his weapon to his side. “I’m sure you heard the ruckus downstairs; someone’s broken into your father’s treasury, we suspect it’s pirates.”

“We spotted two of the ruffians already,” the other adds urgently. “But they gave us the slip, have you heard any other noise up here? Have you seen anything?”

“Uh.” Taiga makes eye-contact with the man beside the dresser. He looks young, about Taiga’s age; still more of a boy than a man, really. His face is set in a defiant glare, his lip curled up in disdain, but the wideness of his eyes and the visible tension coiling through his body are loudly betraying his fear. 

He looks away. 

_Pirate. He’ll hang tomorrow if he’s caught._

“Young Lord?”

“Nothing,” Taiga says quickly. “I um… I heard something crash in the East Wing, I think, but I haven’t seen anything here.”

“The East Wing?” one of the guards says, turning to his companion. 

“If we hurry, we can probably head them off.” 

With a clatter of boots and bayonets, the men rush out of the room.

Taiga lets out his breath and waits until they’re gone to look back at the pirate, but he isn’t where he left him. In the flicker of the firelight, the cranny next to the wardrobe is empty, as if he’d up and vanished on the spot. 

He turns to the window to find that it’s been thrown open, a tiny square escape hatch overlooking the bay below. The curtains dance like silk skirts in the cold ocean breeze.

* * *

_Four years later..._  
  


Taiga storms onto the pier with his hands balled into fists. His teeth and every muscle of his body are clenched, his vision so shuttered that he frequently bumps into sailors and merchants, all of whom recoil with fervent, bowing apologies as soon as they recognize his face. He’s surprised the salty air doesn’t sizzle when it makes contact with his skin, and that he isn’t leaving scorch marks on the wooden planks that creak under his boots. 

In a word, he’s royally pissed.

Not emotionally ready for battle. _Not_ **_emotionally_ ** _ready for battle?_ He’ll throttle his tutor with one hand and flip him the bird with the other the next time he sees him. And that’s before even mentioning his father’s input. 

He’s not a child anymore. He’s more than ready, and should have his _own_ goddamn command by now, but apparently everyone in his father’s estate is content to keep treating him like he’s some fragile, helpless thing; won’t let him even train with anything but dummy swords, and _only_ if he’s supervised within the courtyard. And worst of all, his father seems perfectly happy to go along with all this coddling, patronizing horseshit. 

_Whose side is he on, anyway?_

Filling his lungs with clean ocean spray doesn’t do much for clearing his head, but it’s still worth a walk down along the docks to watch the waves rock the rows of moored ships. The rhythmic lap of greenish water was always calming to him as a boy; he can remember his father bringing him down here to show him his latest top-of-the-line warships, all neat and freshly painted, their massive hulls gleaming and free of scrapes or barnacles. 

The thought of his father brings his temper rushing like bile back to the surface, and he stops at the edge of the dock, quietly seething in place and staring, unseeing, at the red and white frigate bearing his family insignia that’s tethered directly across from him. On either side of her rows and rows of jet black gunports, a pair of his father’s guards are posted. 

_Ah, shit._

They don’t seem to have noticed him yet, but it won’t take them long to pick his height and telltale red hair out of the crowd. He can just hear his father now, lecturing him full-steam for leaving the estate on his own without protection -- _“That’s the sort of rash behavior that could get you killed…”,_ “ _See, this is why you’ve still got some growing up to do before I can entrust you with any more responsibility…”_ and his personal favorite, “ _Your brother was never this much trouble.”_ He doesn’t know what that last one is supposed to mean; Tatsuya was and still is nothing _but_ trouble, for everyone he meets, but that aside, if he can avoid the whole dressing down and keep his father from knowing how far he’s ventured beyond the gates by himself, he’s damn well going to make sure of it. 

He quickly turns back the way he came, ready to duck behind the first handy object he comes across, when he hears his name ring out across the pier. One of the guards has spotted him and is in pursuit, his red and white uniform weaving eel-like through the slew of seafarers between him and Taiga.

Taiga takes off running. Doesn’t even think about it, just barrels back up the dock full-tilt, dodging around all the scruffy sailors he’d shouldered into before. His father will hear about this now, no doubt, but it’ll be better if it’s Taiga’s word against the guard’s that he was even here. Far better than being dragged by the scruff of his neck and dumped at his father’s feet like a runaway ragamuffin. That would set his campaign for military trainee back at least another six months, probably longer. He can’t afford to be caught. 

“Young Lord!” the guard is shouting desperately behind him. “Taiga! Wait, stop!”

Taiga cuts around a corner, almost tripping as the boards suddenly transition to a raised deck, reaching like a bridge between one dock and the next. He jumps down on the other side and sprints along the wooden planks even as they near dry land, avoiding a messy tangle of fishing nets strewn across his path. He can still hear the guard’s boots thumping behind him, gaining on him with every step. He can’t outrun this guy forever, and he’s at a loss for any potential hiding place, until he rounds the stern of one ship docked at the very end of the pier, and spots a pile of large open crates beside it, presumably for cargo to be unloaded. Glancing over his shoulder to find that the guard hasn’t caught up to him yet, he jumps into the largest of the crates and hunkers down low. 

He’s mildly surprised to find that it isn’t full of fruit or fish or anything else that might be sold at this port, but a seemingly random collection of objects all jumbled together in a heap. Silk clothes and gold candlesticks and pieces of different china sets that don’t go together, strings of pearls and silver cups and what looks to be a parasol, a peppering of finely polished silverware thrown in helter-skelter on top of the whole mix. Shaking his head at what he can only guess is some wealthy trader’s refuse, Taiga pulls a long, navy blue cloak out from under the mess and covers himself with it like a tarp, trying to silence his ragged breathing and listening anxiously for the sound of approaching footsteps. 

It takes a little longer than he expected. He’s sweating and almost suffocating under the cloak, the sun baking his back through the heavy fabric, when he finally hears the clump of boots draw near, not at a run but a slow, plodding shuffle. _He ran out of steam, huh?_

He waits for the boots to retreat once the guard glances over the crates and decides Taiga’s not in them, but they don’t. They only come closer, until it sounds like they’re right on top of Taiga. _Shit… shit…_

He holds in his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for humiliation following his exposure, but instead there’s just a short, loud _clunk_ overhead, and the last bit of light filtering through Taiga’s eyelids suddenly goes black. 

_What?_

He sits up so fast that he hits his head on the lid of the crate, and crouches back down with a pained gasp. Wait. The _lid?_ He reaches up just to check, shaking the edge of the thick cloak off his hand, but there’s no mistake. And there’s no pushing the flat, unbudging expanse of wood off of him either.

He’s been shut in.

“Hey!” he shouts, banging on the lid with his fist. “What’s the big idea? Let me out!”

He receives no reply, and the lid stays firmly in place. He can’t hear anything from the outside anymore; no footsteps, not even a muffled voice, only the rasp of his own breathing in the dark, ramping up gradually as he starts to panic.

Then, all of a sudden, the bottom of the crate _lurches_ under his hands and knees, and he feels a dizzy, weightless jerk in his navel that tells him he’s not on the ground anymore. The crate dips alarmingly in the air, pieces of metal and china sliding from one end to the other and piling against Taiga’s side, jostling and clinking together. 

“M-my father won’t like this!” he tries, his voice coming out tight and small in the enclosed space. Whatever game this guard is playing, he’s going to be fired so fast he won’t know what hit him, or exiled, once Taiga’s father finds out he trapped the youngest Kagami son in a wooden, airless box. Had he thought Taiga wouldn’t go with him unless he snared him like some kind of exotic trophy animal? _Or is this a kidnapping? Was that the plan all along?_

He hates the sting of regret that sinks into his skin at the thought of it, but his father was right. Shouldn’t have been out without his usual guard. Should have stayed at home like a good boy or asked for an escort to the pier, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. 

Taiga’s stomach flips as the crate starts to drop sharply, sucking air between his teeth as he waits for its momentum to reach zero. But even after it stops falling, the crate is still moving. Swaying gently from side to side as if caught in a light breeze. Did he just get dropped on a _ship?_

Swallowing a surge of fear and confusion, he pounds his fist into the solid wood lid of the crate again, repeatedly, and then whales on it with both hands as he shouts at the top of his voice.

“Hey! Hey, get me out of here! You’re making a mistake!” 

He slams into the side of the crate with his shoulder, using the full force of his body to hit like he’s seen his guards do to break through locked doors. The crate doesn’t budge. He reels back and tries again, throwing himself hard against the side, and again, and all at once, the crate starts to tip, the swaying underneath it adding to the sideways momentum until it finally flips over onto its side. The delicate china shatters on impact, piles of metal and cloth raining down on Taiga’s head, but the crate doesn’t burst open like he expected it to. 

Untangling himself from the silk and fabric, he rights himself in this new orientation, his hands scuffing over pieces of broken china. A ribbon of light is filtering in through the blackness now, and he can actually see what color they are. Squinting, he determines that the source of the light is a thin crack where the side of the crate meets the lid. It must have split when Taiga knocked it over. _Maybe I can pry it open…_

Groping blindly for one of the heavy candlesticks, he jabs it at the tiny break in the wood and twists it around, but it’s too thick to fit in the gap. He snatches up a fine silver fork next and jams it into the hole, but the flimsy little tool can’t get nearly enough leverage to make it any wider. 

He sits back, panting, and recognizes with a sink of dismay that his efforts are futile. _At least now I won’t suffocate._

Pressing his eye up to the crack, he tries to get a glimpse of his surroundings, but all he can see outside is more wood, the flat panel of another crate piled up next to his. He can hear a little clearer though, now that he isn’t panting in a claustrophobic panic, or shouting his head off. He can hear multiple voices yelling on top of each other, and boots stomping back and forth across wood planks -- much the same sounds as the rest of the pier, but with a heightened sense of purpose and urgency, rushing to accomplish some task. He can hear pulleys and rope straining, and the shuddering flap of sails in the wind, indistinct orders carrying from a distance in a muddled cacophony of sound.

Then he hears another voice, loud and clear this time, a raised female voice directly next to his crate.

“Get the cargo below deck!” it shouts overhead. Then, “Hey! Who’s the scurrying bilge-rat that got these loaded? This one tipped and cracked!”

Taiga opens his mouth to get the speaker’s attention, but then he hears a muffled, distant reply and the first voice speaks again.

“I don’t care, if you’re gonna throw them around and crack them open, I’ll do the same to your bleeding head!”

That brings Taiga up short. He’s heard crude jabs and threats like that from sailors around the port before, but something in this woman’s voice cuts like a knife. She sounds dead serious, and in a rush, Taiga finds that he doesn’t want to reveal himself to whatever company he’s managed to find himself in.

A different, lower male voice chips in then, close enough that its owner must be right on top of Taiga’s crate. 

“Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Taiga reaches out a hand to brace himself, but there’s nothing to brace against as the crate is roughly pushed the right way up. He tries to bury himself in the cloth again, but it’s no use, everything has been shifted and he can’t get the tangled fabric out from under him in time. A woody crunch rings out over his head. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he doesn’t get a moment to prepare himself before light pours in from above, and the lid is pried free.

He finds himself looking up from a bed of crushed china plates and bunched silk into the faces of three complete strangers. A woman with long hair tied back in a messy loop, a man with short blond bangs peeking out under a black kerchief, and a man with a battered cap and a crowbar in one hand. They look as shocked to see Taiga as Taiga is to see them.

“Uh --” Taiga starts, but the man with the crowbar cuts him off.

“A stowaway, eh?” he grunts, his gaze hardening. “That’ll do it.”

“Kosuke, get a rope,” the woman says, reaching for her waist, and the blond man inclines his head and takes off running.

“I can explain,” Taiga says, holding up his hands, and suddenly finds the wicked tip of a rapier pointed right under his chin. 

“You can make your excuses to the fishes,” the man with the crowbar says direly, nudging Taiga in the back with the blunt end of his weapon. Taiga gets the hint and stands up shakily, very conscious of the length of cold steel at his neck. “Captain doesn’t take kindly to thieves an’ innerlopers, see?”

“I’m not a thief!” Taiga protests desperately, his throat bobbing as the blade nudges against his skin. “I was just --”

“Momoi,” the blond man interjects, reappearing at the woman’s side with a coil of rope over his shoulder and two other men — one tall, one short — flanking him. “What should we do with him?”

“Tie him up,” the woman called Momoi says. Crowbar Man grins, but the expression falls slightly at the next thing she says. “We aren’t throwing him over, Miyaji. At least…” Her eyelids drop slightly and the tip of her sword trails down the side of Taiga’s neck, “...not yet. I’m sure Aomine will want to wait for deeper waters.”

 _Aomine?_ The name rings through Taiga like a knell, as he’s sure it does for every respectable sailor at every port from here to the next continent. Aomine Daiki. Captain of the _Rising Tyrant._ The vicious, bloodthirsty pirate has certainly made a name for himself in the last few years, what with the stories of plundered villages set ablaze and merchant ships found ripped to pieces at sea. No survivors. 

_Of all the cursed, god-forsaken luck_ , Taiga thinks, as a length of rope is roughly wound around his arms and fastened behind his back. He’s not getting out of this alive, no fucking way. He wonders if his father will send a search party in time to find his body after it’s swallowed by the sea.

“Excuse me, but... who are you?” the shortest of the men gathered around the crate -- who had been silent up until now -- asks softly. His eyebrows are drawn together in a slight frown, and he’s gazing at Taiga intently, but otherwise it’s impossible to read his expression.

“Kagami Taiga,” Taiga says through gritted teeth, eyeing the sword at the man’s hip. Not as long as the one currently pointing at his throat, but still formidable.

His family name has the expected effect. A collective murmur of surprise moves through the group of pirates like a ripple on the water, a murmur that quickly turns to shouts and jeers.

“Whatcha doin’ outside your castle, Lordling?”

“Ever been on a _real_ boat before, Sea Legs?”

“Captain should be mighty pleased to meet you!”

Taiga releases his breath as the tip of the woman Momoi’s sword finally moves away. Her eyes are even more piercing than her blade, however, and they don’t stray from his face.

“Tetsu,” she says, with a fleeting glance at the short, quiet man. “Wake the captain. He’ll want to know what a prize he has aboard his ship.”

The guy called Tetsu gives a single grim nod and retreats, and Taiga doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he seems to disappear completely as he falls out of his immediate line of sight. The circle of pirates around him, however, only seems to have grown, more of the crew coming to investigate as the commotion caused by Taiga’s identity spreads. 

And he can’t help but think, as he’s man-handled out of the crate and his eyes sweep around the deck, that as far as pirates go, these are nothing like he pictured. They aren’t well-dressed, but they’re also not in rags. There are no eye patches or peglegs to be seen, and while they may not be totally straight and white, the majority seem to still have all their teeth. He can’t spot a single scraggly beard among them. And then of course there’s the woman on board, who seems to actually be the one in charge. _Well, aside from the captain, I suppose._

He shudders against a trickle of dread that flows through him at the reminder. In a few moments, he’ll put a face to the name of the notorious Captain Aomine, and find out if all the grisly rumors about him are true.

It may just be the last thing he ever learns. 

“Let me go,” he says to the woman who’s no longer pointing a sword at him, knowing it’s probably a lost cause, but he has to try. “Please, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“You hold your tongue or I’ll cut it out,” Momoi snaps, clenching her hand on the hilt of her weapon.

“My father will find out about this,” Taiga insists. “He’ll come looking for me, he has a fleet of --”

“Yes, we’re all well aware of Lord Kagami and his assets,” Momoi says evenly. It must be some kind of private joke, because a stir of coarse laughter from the others follows her statement. Taiga looks around at all of them uneasily. 

Even if he were trained in combat and not tied up, he’s unarmed and far outnumbered, and if he somehow, miraculously, managed to escape in spite of that, it wouldn’t matter. There’s no telling how far out to sea they’ve already sailed, and he can’t spot the receding port nor his hometown no matter which direction he turns. He’d drown before he ever saw land.

He supposes the only option he has left is to meet this Aomine. Hope against hope that he can reason with him, and not be cut down where he’s standing or made to walk a plank. He doesn’t like his chances; everything he’s heard about Aomine paints him as an unhinged maniac, and even if it all turns out to be exaggeration, Tatsuya was always the diplomatic one, not Taiga. He’s been told he only knows how to solve problems with his fists.

All around him are thieving, murdering pirates, waiting alongside him with bated breath for the thievingest, murderingest pirate of them all to arrive.

“Bet the captain strings you up by your toes an’ leaves you for the birds,” Crowbar Man grunts in Taiga’s ear with relish. “Or sends you back to Daddy in a brine barrel with your dick cut --”

“You’d better have a damn fine reason for waking me up early, Satsuki,” a deep, carrying voice interrupts, and the man instantly falls silent.

Taiga whips around toward the stern of the ship. The short man from before is back, and following two strides behind him is a much, much taller man, perhaps a hair taller than Taiga himself. Swarthy and imposing with eyes that -- _Wait a minute._

He knows this face. He saw this face, though it was smoother and less imposing then, lit by candlelight, over four years ago. _That_ had been the blackhearted pirate Aomine Daiki? The frightened but defiant young thief Taiga had spared from the gallows in a fit of adolescent moral fiber? 

_What a fucking small world this is._

Aomine pauses as his eyes that Taiga can now see are blue as the sea take in the conspicuous gathering in the middle of the deck. They rake over Taiga in one slow, agonizing sweep, giving nothing away. He may very well not remember him, it was so long ago.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asks finally, straightening to his full height. Though he isn’t any more decorated or lavishly dressed than the rest of his crew -- _Well, he did just wake up_ \-- Taiga thinks he can still understand how this person could be the captain. His tone is bored, but his presence alone is commanding, his stance powerful and yet completely at ease amid the rocking of the waves, with no visible shifting or adjusting to keep his balance. Taiga can hardly say the same for himself.

“A stowaway, Captain,” the blond man with the rope says immediately. “Found him in with the loot from the last raid, says his name is Kagami Taiga.”

One of Aomine’s eyebrows arches slightly, but he says nothing to that at first, approaching Taiga with a slow, almost predatory gait, staring into his face like he can see his very soul.

“And what use,” he says silkily, stopping right in front of him, “would a nobleman’s son have for my treasure?”

“I don’t want your treasure,” Taiga forces out, holding his penetrating gaze despite the swaying of the ship. “This is all a misunderstanding... ah… sir.”

He doesn’t know why, but Aomine looks amused by that, a short, sharp grin stealing across his face, there and gone again in an instant before he turns away. 

“Satsuki,” he says calmly. Momoi stands up a little straighter, though she in no way matches his height. “Untie him.”

“What?” Momoi demands, whirling on him in shock, sword and all. Aomine doesn’t seem bothered, and casually pushes the flat of the blade away from himself.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Have you gone fucking mad, Aomine?” the man with the crowbar shouts. “This is _Lord Kagami’s_ _son_ , we can’t --!”

“You will do as you’re ordered, sailor,” Aomine says, still appearing cool and unruffled, but a sliver of danger has crept into his voice. “Now release him, before I get angry.” 

The man scowls, but dutifully starts to work on the knots binding Taiga’s arms. Taiga keeps watching Aomine even after they come undone, rubbing his wrists and hardly daring to breathe. _Maybe he does remember me, after all..._

“None of you louts are to lay a single scurvy hand on him until we make port,” Aomine continues breezily, pacing the width of the deck to address all members of the crew gathered there. “Anyone who has a problem with that will answer to me. Clear?”

“Yes,” Momoi says, lowering her head as well as her sword.

“Aye, Captain,” Crowbar Man adds sulkily. 

A murmur of assent drifts up from the rest of the crew, and Aomine seems satisfied. Taiga lets out a relieved sigh, but then Aomine rounds on him again, a sharp gleam in his eye.

“I wouldn’t start celebrating just yet, Kagami,” he says, in the same casual tone as before. “I can hardly send for ransom from your father until we reach the next port, but as long as you’re on my ship, you’re of no use to me in the brig.”

Taiga gets the message. He won’t be imprisoned or killed like he’d originally feared, but Aomine is going to make him work while he’s on board, for as long as it takes them to reach their destination. 

“You’ll be at the beck and call of my bosun, Tetsu; whatever he says goes. Does that seem satisfactory to you?”

Taiga shoots a glance at the short, quiet man who had politely asked for his name, and nods shortly. Better than being food for sharks or locked up in some prison cell by far.

“Sure.”

Aomine grins that same sharp grin, letting it linger this time.

“Alright then. Welcome aboard the _Rising Tyrant,_ Kagami Taiga.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world still needs more AoKaga pirates, methinks.
> 
> I know, I _know_ I said I wouldn't start any more ongoing works until I got done with ANR, but I couldn't fuckin help myself. At least this one is relatively short and straightforward, and writing out the first chapter was super refreshing for me. I love this AU it's so much fun.
> 
> Comments are my crack, please please indulge me with your thoughts, feed the beast.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
